


It All Goes Wrong

by Saloran



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Doctor and Clara get captured, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, but nothing too explicit, references to violence, this is literally just self indulgent whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:55:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25269466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saloran/pseuds/Saloran
Summary: It’s not long before the Doctor slowly begins to stir. He coughs, trying to expel the smoke from his lungs. Clara takes his hand and squeezes it reassuringly.“It’s alright, Doctor, I’ve got you. You’re safe.”He opens his eyes and turns towards her. “Clara. You have no idea how good it is to see your face.”She smiles at the sound of his voice, an enormous weight lifted off her chest. But there is something distant and haunted in the way he looks at her that takes her aback.-----------------------------------What starts off as a relatively ordinary day for the Doctor and Clara quickly goes wrong. Will they escape? How will they recover from this misadventure?
Relationships: Twelfth Doctor & Clara Oswin Oswald
Comments: 16
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all!  
> It's been a long time since I've written any fanfic, and I rarely post it, but here goes! I have the next few chapters planned out, so hopefully this will update fairly quickly. Any comments and kudos are much appreciated.

Everything is a blur. Hazy snapshots of moments that the Doctor can barely piece together. He tries to focus, but his eyelids are impossibly heavy. Perhaps he could rest for a moment. It’s a tempting thought, but he pushes back, clinging to consciousness with the last remnants of his willpower.

Everything had happened so quickly.

He remembers running. Running with Clara. They dart down a long, metal corridor, footsteps rapidly closing in behind them. Adrenaline buzzing in the air. The cavernous ship seems to go on forever, and there’s only so long they can keep this up. Time for a backup plan. 

He stops and turns on his heel to face their pursuers. Clara joins him, and they stand defiantly, shoulder to shoulder, as though they had choreographed it. The small troupe of Sarivian soldiers that had been chasing them halt, momentarily taken aback.

“I don’t suppose you have any interest in discussing this rationally?” The Doctor asks.

The one who he assumes to be the leader of the soldiers steps forward. She bares her needle-like teeth in response, her iridescent scales bristling. 

“Right. Well, always worth a try.” He continues, taking his sonic screwdriver from his pocket. “Bye bye.”

With that, he aims the sonic at the ceiling. A metallic groaning and creaking emanates from above them, and the Sarivians take a few hesitant steps away. No sooner have they done so than a chunk of the ceiling gives way, crashing to the ground. Exposed wires send sparks flying in every direction. Without waiting for their pursuers to react, the Doctor grabs Clara’s hand and they’re off running again. 

That’s when it all begins to go exceedingly wrong. 

They don’t make it far before four more soldiers march out of a nearby passageway, cutting them off. This time, there is no opportunity for the Doctor to talk. One of the soldiers catches him by the collar of his jacket and sends him careening into the nearest wall. Reeling from the impact, he staggers backwards, but manages to stay on his feet. 

“Doctor!” Clara cries out. 

Before she can think, she darts towards him, trying to to shove the soldier out of the way. Her effort is in vain. She is laughably shorter than the towering Sarivian, and he barely flinches. It would seem all she’s succeeded at doing is angering him. He turns his attention from the Doctor towards her, wrapping his taloned hands around her throat and lifting her into the air. A pained, strangled yelp escapes her lips.

The Doctor’s mind races as the dire situation only grows worse. The other group of soldiers have gotten past the rubble and caught up. There’s no escape route now. In a last ditch effort, he reaches for the sonic screwdriver again, but the leader of the soldiers stops him in his tracks. 

“I would not do that.” She says, her voice icy and commanding. “We require your assistance, Time Lord, but we have no use for the human. If you value her life, I suggest you both come quietly.”

To emphasize the point, the soldier holding Clara rakes one of his claws across her skin, leaving a red, angry scratch from her neck to her cheek.

“Doctor, just run.” Clara pleads, although she is certain he won’t listen. 

Sure enough, after a heavy pause, the Doctor raises his hands in surrender. No sooner has he done so than one of the soldiers rushes up behind him, striking him in the back of the head with a stout, metal club. This time, he does not stay on his feet, and crumples to the ground with a sickening thud.

“Stop it!” Clara yells, struggling to wrench herself free of her captor. “Leave him alone, he surrendered.”

The words fall on deaf ears, and the soldier holding Clara only tightens his grip. The Doctor attempts to rise, shakily propping himself up on his elbow. This earns him a sharp kick in the ribs and he collapses with a muffled cry. After that, he lies eerily still.

“Carry him.” The leader of soldiers says. “Quickly.”

The Sarivian who had struck him obliges, hoisting the Doctor up as though he hardly weighs anything. His head falls listlessly to the side and his grey hair is stained with blood. For a brief instant, his eyes flicker open and he looks at Clara helplessly. But he quickly lapses back into unconsciousness.

That is all the Doctor remembers. Until, out of the darkness, he hears his name. 

“Doctor. Doctor!”

He stirs, mumbling something incoherent. A blinding, stabbing pain radiates from his head. He glances around, blinking slowly. His eyes are not adjusted to the darkness, and it’s nearly impossible to make anything out clearly.

“Can you hear me?” The voice calls out, louder this time. 

He recognizes it now, and it drags him quickly towards reality.

“Clara.” He replies, with undisguised relief. 

He tries to move towards her, but finds he can not. His arms are shackled above his head with heavy chains. In his disoriented state, he panics, fighting against the restraints. The metal cuffs bite into his wrists, rubbing the skin raw. 

“It’s ok. It’s ok. I’m right here.” Clara tries to be comforting, despite her own growing fear. “Try not to move, you’re hurt.”

The sound of rattling chains stops, and the Doctor is still. Clara wonders for a moment if he’s fallen unconscious again, but he finally speaks. 

“What happened?”

“They caught us. The Sarivian, I think you called them? They knocked you out and brought us both down here, to the bottom of the ship.”

“Clara, did they hurt you?”

“No, I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about.”

“Oh, don’t fret about me.” He replies, although his voice is hoarse and weak. “I’ve had worse. This is just an average Monday.”

The half-hearted attempt at levity does little to quell Clara’s nerves.

“Doctor,” She says, with sudden urgency, “I have to ask. The soldiers, they said they only needed you. That I was disposable. So why am I still here?”

The Doctor recoils at the very thought of the soldiers harming Clara.

“I don’t know.” He finally admits. “I don’t know what they want. But Clara, I promise I will not let anything happen to you. Do you hear me?”

“I know you won’t.”

Deep down, they both know it’s not a promise he can keep forever. But it’s still a nice thing to hear.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Thanks for the kind comments on the first chapter. The next one should be up in a few days!

That night passes uneventfully. No one comes to check on them, except very briefly to bring water. The searing pain at the back of the Doctor’s skull has thankfully subsided to a dull ache. He suspects he may have a broken rib or two from where the soldier struck him, but nothing more severe than that. 

Neither of them can sleep, and so they pass the time by talking. It starts with a discussion of how to escape, but that quickly proves fruitless. The Sarivians had taken the Doctor’s jacket before chaining him up. Even if they hadn’t, neither he nor Clara could reach the sonic screwdriver or anything else useful with their arms shackled. So, they resort to idle chatter. At least it’s better than being alone in the dark with their thoughts.

After what must have been several hours, the door to the cell creaks open. The leader of the soldiers steps inside, ominously back-lit by the beam of light that streams through the narrow doorway. Quickly and efficiently, she walks to the Doctor and undoes the cuffs from his wrists. He looks up at her with undisguised contempt.

“Follow me.” She commands.

The Doctor searches for some clever retort, but thinks better of it. He has no power here. No way out. Not yet, anyways. So, he obeys, wincing as he endeavors to stand. He puts a hand against the wall to steady himself. 

Clara watches the whole scene unfold and desperately wants to protest. More than that, she wishes she could reach out and help him. But she holds her tongue for fear of attracting unwanted attention. As the Doctor leaves, he glances over his shoulder at her, flashing a faint, reassuring smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

The door closes and suddenly she is very, very alone. The silence unsettles her to her very core. She waits for what seems like an eternity. Her body is exhausted, but she can’t possibly rest. Not until the Doctor is back and safe. Time continues to drag on interminably, and a growing sense of dread seeps in, threatening to overwhelm her. There is nothing for her mind to do aside from dwell on increasingly horrible worst-case scenarios. She has nearly convinced herself that he will never come back when, finally, a key turns in the lock.

The room is once again illuminated by light pouring through the open door, and she breathes a deep sigh of relief. However, that relief is woefully short-lived. Sure enough, the Doctor has returned. The lead soldier holds his limp body, her arms under his shoulders. In the light, it’s plain to see that his white shirt is tattered and spattered with fresh blood. What’s more disturbing than that is his face. It’s a painful mess of bruises, with one eye entirely swollen shut. He blinks his one good eye slowly, glancing around as though he isn’t sure where he is. All Clara can manage is to stare in shock as she feels the color drain from her face. The soldier drags him over to the wall and unceremoniously refastens his restraints.

Her razor-sharp fangs glisten as she kneels down to his level, sneering at him. “I want you to think very carefully about what I asked you.” 

With that, she stands and leaves the cell. At the sound of the door clicking shut, Clara immediately shakes herself out of her temporary paralysis.

“What happened? What did they do to you?” Her voice is choked with emotion, fear and fury bubbling up within her. “Come on, Doctor, talk to me. Please.”

As long as she can keep him awake, she tells herself, he’ll be fine. Everything will be fine. But the Doctor is slumped forward now, his head bowed. The chains are the only thing keeping him upright.

“Please.” Clara repeats, more to herself than to him.

Suddenly, he gasps, sitting up.

“Clara. I don’t...I-I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.” His speech is halting and slurred. “I can’t protect you.”

“That’s alright. That’s fine. Just keep talking.”

He mumbles something that Clara can’t quite make out, and then he listlessly falls forward again.

“No, no, no. Come on, stay with me.”

At first, there is no reply. Clara strains her neck to see him. The sight makes her heart sink even further. In the dim light, he looks like a corpse, with his gaunt, lined face. The labored, shallow rise and fall of his chest appears to be the only sign of life left in him. Clara wants nothing more than to hurry to him and comfort him. But all she can do is talk. 

“Please, Doctor. I need you to say something.”

That seems to get his attention.

“I should have never dragged you into this mess.” He says, his voice barely audible.

“You didn’t drag me into anything. All of this, travelling with you, it’s my choice. And we’ll get through this. We always do.”

“Thank you, Clara.”

After that, the Doctor is silent once more. Not even Clara’s words bring him back. 

His memories become fragmented again. Lost in the fog. Clara is still talking to him, that much he knows. But everything only comes through in bits and pieces. Nothing is in focus. And then, there is quiet. Complete quiet. Bits of images, bright and dreamlike, flicker everywhere. After a while, he can feel himself falling through space. Falling back towards consciousness. 

He is aware of the shackles on his wrists again. Aware of the fact that every inch of him aches. That he can’t take a breath without wanting to wheeze or cough. His mind wakes up, and all the pieces gradually fall back into place. 

How long has it been? Minutes? Hours? He turns his head to look at Clara, but his right eye is still swollen shut, and he can’t turn far enough to see her.

“Clara?”

No reply. He calls for her again, more urgently now. Nothing. He pulls against the restraints, twisting his body as far as it will go. Then, he sees it. Her shackles are empty. Clara is gone.

The realization hits him like a blow to the chest. They must have taken her while he was unconscious. He calls her name one more time, frantic. As though that will somehow bring her back. How could he have let this happen? He bitterly curses his own weakness.

“What have you done with her?” He shouts as loudly as he is able, his voice ragged and desperate. 

If anyone hears him, they don’t show it. He continues fighting against the shackles like some sort of rabid animal, not caring how futile it is or how deeply the cuffs dig into his wrists. Finally, exhausted, he collapses into a fit of coughing. 

He doesn’t have to wait much longer before the cell door opens again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm going to be a bit busy this coming week and I'm still planning out where exactly I want this story to go, so the next update may be a bit slower. Regardless, I hope you enjoy! Comments a kudos always much appreciated.

It’s like something straight out of the Doctor’s nightmares.

The lead soldier steps into the cell once more, dragging Clara at her side. She shoves Clara forward, sending her tumbling to her knees. Clara doesn’t look as badly beaten as the Doctor, but that’s only a small mercy. Her skin is decorated with a patchwork of scrapes and bruises, and she grits her teeth in pain. The soldier leaves her on the ground, not even bothering to chain her up again. 

“You had no right.” The Doctors snarls, making another pointless attempt to pull free of his shackles. “This is between you and me. She has nothing to do with this.”

“You’re impressive, Time Lord. Still so feisty.” The soldier replies. “As for the human, I simply thought you might need some incentive to help you make your decision. I expect an answer next time I return.”

Without further hesitation, she leaves Clara and the Doctor alone. 

Silence follows. Anything the Doctor can think of to say feels inadequate. All of this is his fault, and the guilt bears down on him like a crushing weight. No words come to Clara’s mind, either. Instead, she picks herself up off the floor, takes a few unsteady steps, and sits down at the Doctor’s side. She puts her arms around him, resting her head on his chest. 

“Clara, I…” He can feel tears pricking the corners of his eyes and struggles to force them back. 

“Shut up.” She says, holding him closer. “I understand.”

But he can’t help himself. “I’m sorry. Clara, I am so sorry.”

“I know.” She replies.

She doesn’t let go of the Doctor for quite some time. And he doesn’t want her to. He needs to know that she’s still there. That she’s alive and warm and breathing. But he also has an unpleasant sense of clarity now. It’s abundantly clear what must be done. He looks down at Clara. At the bruises and abrasions on her skin. His mind is made up.

“I will fix all of this. I have a plan.” He says, although he sounds more resigned than overjoyed.

Still, Clara is glad to see that some of the Doctor’s usual confidence has returned.

“What’s the plan, then?” She asks, lifting her head.

“That’s not important right now.” He replies firmly. “I just need you to promise me something. I need you to promise me that, when the time comes, you will do exactly as I say.”

She furrows her brow, looking at him skeptically. “No. I want you to tell me what your plan is. What do you know?”

He lets out a small sigh of exasperation. “I’ll tell you when it’s time. Just try to get some rest now.”

Under any better circumstances, Clara would put up a stronger objection. But she is exhausted and in pain and her eyes are already threatening to droop shut. She does need sleep. And so, reluctantly, she obliges his request. Within a few minutes, she drifts off, her head against his chest once more.

Meanwhile, the Doctor keeps watch. Several times, he swears he can hear footsteps approaching, and his hearts begin to race. But it’s only his imagination. Occasionally, Clara whimpers and calls out in her sleep. The Doctor wishes desperately that his arms were unchained so that he could hug her or offer some consolation.

Eventually, she wakes, relieved to find that he is still there.

“How long was I asleep?”

“Oh, just a couple of hours. Don’t worry, you didn’t miss much.” He says wryly.

She tries to sit up, which sends a wave of pain coursing up her body. It feels as though every inch of her back is bruised.

He looks over at her, concern written in the lines of his face. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better. You?”

He nods in agreement. “I take back what I said earlier. This is a slightly worse-than-average Monday.” 

They both smile, although neither can quite manage a laugh.

“So, are you going to tell me about your brilliant plan to get us out of here yet?”

His smile falls. “It’s best if you don’t know. Not yet.”

Something in his tone tells her she will get nowhere by prying. So she relents, despite her misgivings.

“Fine. I trust you.”

She changes the subject. They while away the time, telling stories and reminiscing. It makes their current predicament begin to feel far away. But, inevitably, that can not last. 

There are footsteps coming down the hall now, and not just in the Doctor’s imagination. Then, the dreaded click of the key in the lock, and the door swings open. 

Before the soldier even enters the room, Clara is clinging to the Doctor’s sleeve as though her life depends on it. She’s not letting anyone take him. Not this time. Not without one hell of a fight. The soldier surveys the scene, a slight smirk crossing her features at the sight of the two prisoners huddled together.

“Well, Time Lord? I trust you have made a decision. Or do you require further persuasion?”

The Doctor meets her gaze, his expression cold and determined. “My decision is very simple. Let Clara leave here in my TARDIS and I will do whatever you ask of me.”

“What?” Clara interjects, her eyes wide with alarm. “Wait. This isn’t-”

The soldier brusquely cuts her off. “And why would I do that? Why would I give up the one piece of leverage I have over you?”

“Because you have no choice.” He replies. “If you don’t let her go now, I will never help you. I can handle whatever pathetic torture you can think of a thousand times over. As long as she’s in danger, you will get nothing from me.”

The soldier considers his words for a moment, but it doesn’t take her long to make up her mind. “Very well, then. I accept your terms.”

“No!” Clara snaps, staring at the Doctor in disbelief. “I’m not going without you. This is not happening.”

But it’s too late. The soldier grabs Clara by the arm, pulling her up off the floor. Then, she takes a small, cartridge-like device from her utility belt and jabs it into Clara’s side. It releases a violent, crackling burst of electricity. Clara cries out at the shock and then falls to the ground, silent and still.

“That wasn’t necessary.” The Doctor’s voice is unnaturally steady, scarcely covering the seething rage underneath. But he can’t afford to lose his temper now. Not when he’s so close to getting Clara free.

“She was being difficult. You may come with me to your ship and see her off.” The soldier replies, unlocking the Doctor’s shackles.

He nods, staggering to his feet. Meanwhile, the soldier hoists Clara off the ground, half-carrying and half-dragging her. They all leave the cell and make their way towards the TARDIS. The Doctor struggles to keep up, resting against the wall as he goes. Fortunately, the majority of the journey is in a lift.

As they reach the level where the TARDIS had landed, Clara begins to stir. It’s gradual at first, but she soon realizes what is happening and jolts wide awake.

“No, no, no.” She pleads, trying to wrestle out of the soldier’s grip with what little strength she has left. “You can’t do this.”

“Relax.” The Doctor says. “Clara, relax. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be or you’ll just get hurt again.”

She looks at him with abject betrayal in her eyes. But he is correct. What can she do? She can’t get away and, even if she could, she wouldn’t make it far in the state she’s in. There is little choice but to go along with this and simply watch it all unfold. The battle is over. And so she does relax, although every atom in her body screams and rebels against it.

They turn down one, final hallway. And there, standing out like a beacon against the dull, metal walls, is the TARDIS. The Doctor has a fleeting, foolish impulse to grab Clara and run. But he is also all too aware that they would never make it. Instead, the three of them simply walk towards the blue box. When they approach it, the soldier releases her grip on Clara. 

“Go on. You are free.” She says impatiently. 

Clara turns to face the Doctor. “I can’t. I won’t leave you here.”

“Go.” He says, unable to look her in the eye. “If anything were to happen to you, I don’t think I’d ever be able to live with myself. Please.”

As if in response, the TARDIS opens. Time seems to slow to a crawl as Clara finds herself caught in an impossibly tangled web of emotions. She can’t bring herself to say goodbye, and so she steps through the doorway without another word. Immediately, the doors shut behind her. She sinks to the floor, lost and numb.

The TARDIS springs to life. Invisible tendrils of energy search Clara’s mind, and a low hum fills the air. The central column begins to rise and fall, and soon they are traveling through the vortex. 

The Doctor watches as the blue box dematerializes. Soon, there is nothing but silence and emptiness. 

It is quite some time before Clara can will herself to get up off the ground, even after the TARDIS has landed. But there’s only so long she can delay the inevitable. She rises and makes her way to the doors, opening them cautiously and peering out. 

She’s in her flat. She’s home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> So, just a heads up, this story is going to start winding down after this chapter. I anticipate a couple more chapters, but this isn't going to be an incredibly long fic. I definitely want to keep writing for the DW fandom, so if anyone has any thoughts or requests about what they'd like to see after this, I'd love to hear it!

The numbness that had consumed Clara gives way to bitter anger. How dare he? How dare the Doctor just send her away after everything they’ve been through together? How dare he sacrifice himself for her? That is not his decision to make. She steps back inside the TARDIS and shuts the door. It can’t end this way. 

“Take me back.” Her voice is shaking.

She approaches the central column, grabs the nearest lever on the control panel, and pulls it. Nothing. 

“Take me back, now! I’m not abandoning him.”

She tries again. And again. Every lever, button and switch she can reach. The TARDIS is silent. In pure frustration, she slams her hand against the console.

“You stupid, stupid machine!” She can feel tears welling in her eyes as she speaks. 

But all of her efforts are in vain, and she must eventually admit defeat. Reluctantly, she trudges back to the doors. With one last look over her shoulder, she walks out into her flat. 

Everything aches. She can feel every bruise and cut and scrape on her body with excruciating clarity. It all catches up with her at once. All she wants is to collapse and curl into a ball on the floor. Just disappear. But she pushes onward and manages to drag herself to bed. Not long after her head hits the pillow, she falls into a deep sleep.

Nearly twelve hours pass before she wakes again. It’s pitch black outside now and, for one terrible instant, it seems as though she’s chained up in the cell again. But no. She is in a soft, comfortable bed. 

She shouldn’t be here. Guilt churns in her stomach until she feels ill. What are they doing to the Doctor now? Is he even still alive?

For a long time, she does nothing but stare at the ceiling. If she can stay perfectly still, then perhaps this is all a dream. Nothing more than a fleeting nightmare. But the reality of the situation can only be avoided for so long. So, she pushes back the covers and gets up.

First, she makes her way to the bathroom and rummages around for the first aid kit. Taking a handful of alcohol swabs, she cleans her wounds. She wraps the more serious injuries in gauze and tape. Everything is slow and methodical. One foot in front of the other.

With that taken care of, she walks to the kitchen. There’s still half a pot of coffee left on the counter, and she pours a cup. It’s cold and stale, but the overwhelming bitterness does jolt her mind awake. She makes a piece of toast with jam as well, but can scarcely stomach more than a few bites of it. 

What now?

She returns to the TARDIS, only to find that the doors have sealed themselves shut. The blue box just sits there, as useless as a statue. No amount of bargaining and cursing changes that.

For a fleeting moment, Clara’s mind runs away with her. Maybe she could find Missy. If anyone would be able to swoop in and rescue the Doctor, it’d be her. But the idea is laughable. Clara hasn’t got the first clue where to look for her and, even if she did, Missy would just as soon murder her as help her. That plan is out, at least for now. 

So, Clara downs another cup of coffee and forces herself to finish the toast. Even if she did have some brilliant plan, there’s little she can do if she’s too frail to stand for more than a few minutes. She needs time to recover. 

As that day bleeds into the next, it becomes clear that Clara has nothing but time. And it passes agonizingly slowly. This is not helped by the fact that she refuses to leave her flat. It’s quiet and safe inside, and even the sound of a distant siren makes her jumpy. Fortunately, it’s summer holiday, so no one expects her at work.

Three days pass in much the same manner. Physically, she gets better. Bruises begin to yellow and fade. But emotionally, she only deteriorates. Any attempt to sleep is foiled by a barrage of nightmares. She eats enough to keep hunger pangs at bay, but nothing beyond that.

Meanwhile, the TARDIS continues to be a useless piece of junk, only serving as a cruel reminder of everything that has happened. Clara makes several attempts to break in, all of which fail miserably. On a particularly bad, sleepless night, she goes at the doors with a hammer until her hands are sore. It doesn’t leave a scratch.

Next, she tries to search for information on anyone else who knows the Doctor. Who might be able to help. But it’s as though he doesn’t exist on the internet. It’s all pointless dead ends. Attempting to find Missy is starting to seem like an awfully appealing idea when, near the end of the third day, everything changes.

The TARDIS dematerializes. Clara runs towards the noise, but it’s already gone. The corner of her living room is empty. She’s not sure whether to be hopeful or distraught. Fortunately, she doesn’t have long to dwell on that.

The sound of the TARDIS fills the room again, this time distant and distorted. Her engines sputter, fading in and out, as though she’s having trouble landing. But she finally manages it, reappearing in Clara’s flat. Immediately, Clara notices that the exterior of the TARDIS is coated in soot, and several large scorch marks mar the exterior. She tries the doors, and this time the TARDIS allows her inside. A cloud of smoke billows out, sending her back momentarily, but she holds her breath, squints her eyes, and charges in.

Most of the smoke seems to be coming from underneath the central column, and it soon dissipates enough that she can see her surroundings. She looks around frantically for any sign of the Doctor.

And there he is. Sitting, slumped over, in one of the chairs surrounding the main console. She attempts to shake him awake, but to no avail. So, she puts her arms under his shoulders and drags him towards safety. She makes it out of the TARDIS, the doors shutting behind her. Then, she arrives in her bedroom, where she succeeds in awkwardly maneuvering the Doctor into bed. She finally stops to breathe, resting her hands on her knees.

Only then does she truly have an opportunity to look at him. His face has completely healed. Clearly, more time has passed for him than for her. There are, however, fresh injuries all around his wrists. The result of more time in the shackles. His clothes are different as well. A shirt and trousers made from a cheap, rough material, and a worn-out coat. His hair is shorter, and choppy, as though someone had gone at it haphazardly with a pair of scissors.

How long has it been for him? Clara’s mind buzzes with a million other questions, although the Doctor is clearly in no state to answer any of them. So, she pulls up a chair and waits anxiously for him to wake.


	5. Chapter 5

It’s not long before the Doctor slowly begins to stir. He coughs, trying to expel the smoke from his lungs. Clara takes his hand and squeezes it reassuringly.

“It’s alright, Doctor, I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

He opens his eyes and turns towards her. “Clara. You have no idea how good it is to see your face.”

She smiles at the sound of his voice, an enormous weight lifted off her chest. But there is something distant and haunted in the way he looks at her that takes her aback.

“It’s good to see you again, too.” She says, squeezing his hand tighter. “What happened? How did you get away?”

He doesn’t reply. He just shakes his head slightly, the haunted look in his eyes growing deeper.

“Nevermind.” She says quickly. “I shouldn’t be asking you so many questions right now. Why don’t you rest and I’ll go make some tea?”

She makes a move to leave, but he stops her. “How long was I gone?”

“It was only three days for me. How long was it for you?” She asks, undisguised concern in her voice.

He hesitates, unsure of how to answer. “Ah. Well, it was considerably longer than three days. But that’s not important.”

“Doctor,” Clara is insistent now, “how long did they keep you there?”

He waves away her question dismissively. “I wasn’t keeping track. But I’m here now, that’s what matters.”

That’s an obvious lie. If there’s one thing the Doctor always keeps track of, it’s time. But forcing him to talk will do no good, so she relents. 

“How about some tea?”

“Yes, that would be nice.” He replies, thankful for the opportunity to end the conversation.

She nods and heads to the kitchen. Several minutes later, she returns with two mugs of tea. She hands one to the Doctor and then sits down in her chair again. They both sip their tea for a moment, caught in an awkward silence. Finally, Clara speaks.

“You know, if you want to talk about what happened, I-”

“No.” He cuts her off, his tone much harsher than he had intended. “I’m sorry. I would rather not talk now.”

She is slightly stung by his words, but covers it with a smile. “Right. Of course. You should get some sleep.”  
He nods, staring down into his mug. 

“But let me find you some different clothes. Those are a mess.” She says.

“Oh, don’t bother, I’ll be fine.” 

Clara ignores him, rummaging through her dresser. “Doctor, those clothes are singed and smell like smoke. You’re not sleeping in them.”

The Doctor sighs but doesn’t offer any further argument. After a bit of searching, she produces an oversized shirt and a pair of plaid pajama pants. 

“Danny left these here ages ago. They should fit you.”

He accepts the clothes, looking them over skeptically. 

“Let me know if you need anything else.”

He nods again, and she leaves the room, closing the door softly behind her.

She retires to the couch. At first, she attempts to read a book, but it is entirely impossible to focus on it. Having given up on that, she occupies herself with menial tasks, waiting for the Doctor to wake. There are still so many questions she needs to ask, and it takes all of her willpower to not barge back in and demand he answer them now.

After a couple of hours, the bedroom door opens and the Doctor steps out. Clara rushes over to meet him. Wearing Danny’s pajamas, he hardly looks like himself. The clothes are too big for his wiry frame and hang off of him awkwardly, making him appear frail and sickly. But at least he’s up and walking.

“Feeling better?” Clara asks.

“Yes. I think so.”

He stands in the doorway, uncertain of what to do next.

“Why don’t you sit down?” She offers, motioning to the couch.

He does, and she sits next to him. He stares at his feet, and Clara searches his face for any clue as to what he’s thinking or feeling. But he is inscrutable.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Her voice is quiet and gentle. “But if you do want to talk, I’m here to listen.” 

He fiddles with his shirt sleeve anxiously, his eyes still downcast.

“I was their prisoner for nearly two years.” He finally says.

Clara’s heart sinks, but she remains silent, letting him continue.

“The Sarivians, they were in the middle of a war. They had somehow come across some Time Lord weaponry. Very dangerous weapons. They wanted me to repair them and to build more. I tried my best to disobey. I sabotaged equipment and I was able to sneak plans and information to some rebel forces. Until I was caught.”

He tugs at the collar of his shirt, revealing his shoulder. A spiderweb of red, jagged scars covers his shoulder and continues down towards his collarbone. It looks as though a bolt of electricity had been seared into his skin. 

“Those soldiers did that to you?” She asks, a seething anger rising in her voice. 

The Doctor nods. “But it wasn’t all hopeless. I knew the TARDIS would take you home, so I knew her coordinates. It took longer than I’d hoped, but I was able to piece together a device that would recall her. I just needed an opportunity to use it. Fortunately, the tide of the war was turning. The ship I was on was very nearly blown up, and I was able to escape during the chaos. That is, more or less, how I ended up back here.”

Clara is struck speechless, but eventually finds her voice again. 

“I should have been there to help you.”

“There’s nothing anyone could have done.” He replies. “It’s better that you were safe.”

“Just promise me you won’t do that again. Don’t abandon me like that again.”

“Clara, you were in danger, I-”

“Promise me.”

“Alright, yes, I promise.”

It makes her feel better to hear those words, even if she can’t quite bring herself to believe them.

The rest of the day passes relatively quietly. The Doctor tinkers with the TARDIS, repairing the main console. The explosions on the Sarivian ship had battered her a bit before she could dematerialize, but the damage is all very manageable. Clara helps with the repairs and they chat as they work. Everything begins to feel normal. 

The Doctor is eager to go off in the TARDIS again. Even with everything he’s been through, idleness doesn’t suit him. However, after some strongly worded convincing from Clara, he agrees to stay and recover for at least a couple more days. 

Night falls, and the two of them go to sleep. Clara takes the couch, insisting that the Doctor take her bed. It seems to her that everything is exactly as it should be. 

That is, until she is woken by the sound of soft footsteps and the creaking of a door. The TARDIS door. And there is the Doctor, stepping inside. He freezes when he sees Clara sit up. 

“Doctor? What are you doing?” She asks groggily. 

“I really do regret having to break my promise so soon.” He replies solemnly. “But I’ve always been terrible at goodbyes.”


End file.
